


four photographs

by iron_spider



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Completely Ignoring and Disregarding Endgame, Gen, No Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Precious Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 15:16:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19231708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iron_spider/pseuds/iron_spider
Summary: Peter continues staring at Tony. He doesn’t know what to say. His hands are numb and frozen, he’s got a brain freeze. His whole head is an ice pop. He’s still eating an ice pop. Ice pops. Ice pops everywhere.Tony narrows his eyes. He’s in the patented Dad pose, hands on hips, head cocked, eyes narrowed, brows furrowed. His mouth is slightly agape, because he’s stuck between shock and deciding what he needs to say next. Peter can tell.“When I bought those I thought you might be havingone,” Tony says, eyes darting back and forth between Peter, his ice pop, and the pile of remains beside him. Some of the plastic strips still have juice clinging to them, the juice he couldn’t suck out no matter how hard he tried. A rainbow of juice drops left behind.“Peter,” Tony says. He steps closer, leans down. “Earth to Peter Parker. Are you in an ice pop coma? Is someone forcing you to consume as many ice pops as possible? Blink twice for yes.”





	four photographs

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of Father's Day. Tony Stark displaying very Dad-like tendencies when it comes to one Peter Parker.

**1.**

“How many are you gonna eat?” Tony asks, standing in front of Peter. “How many? I’d like to know an exact number. I’d like to know your plans.”

Peter stares at him, and he feels like he’s been caught, despite the fact that Tony’s been across the lab since all of this started. This, being—creating the giant pile of plastic beside him.

He’s in the middle of Number Unknown ice pop, and this one is green. He’s had at least six other green ones. He thinks.

Peter continues staring at Tony. He doesn’t know what to say. His hands are numb and frozen, he’s got a brain freeze. His whole head is an ice pop. He’s still eating an ice pop. Ice pops. Ice pops everywhere.

Tony narrows his eyes. He’s in the patented Dad pose, hands on hips, head cocked, eyes narrowed, brows furrowed. His mouth is slightly agape, because he’s stuck between shock and deciding what he needs to say next. Peter can tell.

“When I bought those I thought you might be having _one_ ,” Tony says, eyes darting back and forth between Peter, his ice pop, and the pile of remains beside him. Some of the plastic strips still have juice clinging to them, the juice he couldn’t suck out no matter how hard he tried. A rainbow of juice drops left behind.

“Peter,” Tony says. He steps closer, leans down. “Earth to Peter Parker. Are you in an ice pop coma? Is someone forcing you to consume as many ice pops as possible? Blink twice for yes.”

Peter doesn’t blink. He just takes another, blistery cold bite. Green apple, down to the roots of his teeth.

Tony straightens back up. Shakes his head. “My God,” he says. “He’s not there anymore. He’s gone full ice pop.” He walks over, grabs one of the discarded plastics, twisting it between his fingers. “What the hell do they even call these things, really? They were just in some…red net bag when I bought them. Shit, was that a sign? Were they even supposed to be there? Maybe some villain planted the idea in your head, told you to tell me to get them. Now you’re broken.”

“Ice bag stick,” Peter says, taking another icy bite. “Ice stick bag.”

“No way you call them either of those things,” Tony says, letting the plastic flutter back down to join the rest.

“I used to eat these in elementary school,” Peter says.

“And May realized you ate seventy two of them in one sitting and stopped buying them for you. You had a burst of nostalgia recently and decided to get me in on it?” Tony asks.

“Maybe,” Peter says. “Kinda.”

Tony’s smiling a little bit now. “You asked me to upgrade the web shooters as a distraction. You totally could have done it on your own.”

“Oh, definitely.”

Tony hums to himself.

“How many would have been too many?” Peter asks, pushing the ice up to the top of the plastic. “You know, had I—not gone the distraction route?”

“Four?” Tony asks.

“Oh,” Peter says. “Good thing I went the distraction route.”

Tony stares at him like he’s trying to figure him out. And then he pulls his phone out of his pocket, aims it at Peter, and takes a picture.

“Oh, smile,” Tony says. “I bet your teeth—”

Peter grins.

“—yep, yep, I was right. Mud. Dirt. You look insane, Parker.” He snaps a couple more photos.

“I couldn’t stop,” Peter says, taking his last bite and then tilting the plastic up so he can get the juice out. “I still don’t know if I’m done,” he says, garbled through his current endeavor.

“I hope you left some behind for your ice pop dealer,” Tony says, marching off in the direction of the freezer. “I’m gonna try to count how many you had based on how many are missing.”

“Definitely more than twenty!” Peter calls.

“Yeah,” Tony calls back. “The pile speaks for itself.”

 

**2.**

“Just slip and move, kid, c’mon. I know I’ve seen you fight before.”

Peter tries to be light on his feet, but he feels big and weighed down by the padding. The boxing gloves. The stupid red foam helmet they’re both wearing. 

“Yeah, random dudes,” Peter says. “Not you. Not a—real person.”

Tony reaches out and pops him one in the shoulder. He’s clearly pulling his punches, but Peter isn’t keyed in, so he’s still not catching them, not blocking. Tony laughs, and they circle around each other. Peter tries to copy him, stay light on his feet.

“Oh, they weren’t real people?” Tony asks. “I’ll tell that to the guy that stayed webbed to a tree on 3rd for six hours.”

“I didn’t box with him.”

Tony reaches out and taps him again, this time in the middle of his forehead. Or, his foam forehead. He feels really dumb. 

“Didn’t you tell me you learned to fight from the movies?” Tony asks, hands up by his face but ready to move at any second. “Rocky is a good movie. Rocky is an excellent movie. That’s the kind of film I’d expect to see you referencing—running up sets of stairs, arms in the air, children racing after you in the streets—actually, I think I’ve seen that happen—”

“Maybe I just don’t wanna hit you,” Peter says, fast, without even really thinking about it.

Tony laughs, and keeps moving without missing a beat. “Pete, c’mon. C’mon, I trust you. We’re just sparring, it’s fine.”

Peter sighs. They keep circling around each other, and Peter tries to stay on the balls of his feet. He reaches out and throws a punch, which Tony purposefully doesn’t block. 

“There we go,” Tony says. “Okay, c’mon. I know you’re a fighter, Spider-Man. Just gotta style you up a little better. I’m tired of all the broken noses. How many times have you broken your nose? At least a dozen times.”

Peter rolls his eyes. 

“Okay, Mr. Sass, okay,” Tony says, and he lands another punch, with a little more force behind it, in the middle of Peter’s chest. 

“Okay, okay,” Peter says. 

They start sparring more intensely after that. Nothing serious, no hard hits, but Peter matches Tony’s movements, watches his footwork, blocks his hits and throws some of his own. This is the first time someone has genuinely—trained him, in combat. Or made an attempt, anyway. 

Maybe he gets a little too into it.

“Perfect, kid,” Tony says, after Peter lands a punch in the middle of his forehead. “Good, good—”

Peter grins, slips away, and then winds up. He’s aiming for Tony’s forehead again. He totally—he totally is. Aiming for his forehead.

Except he hits him square in the nose. _Hard._

Peter gasps and Tony staggers back, both gloved hands clutching at his face. 

“Oh my God,” Peter breathes, rushing towards him in a panic.

“Maybe that was a little too good,” Tony says, chuckling wetly. 

“Oh no, oh no,” Peter says, his heart beating loud in his ears. He rips one of his gloves off with his teeth, quickly ridding himself of the other once he’s got his hand free.

“It’s fine,” Tony says, still covering his face. “Totally fine.”

“Lemme—oh fuck.”

Tony pulls his hands back and glares at him. “Language, spider-baby.”

“I broke your nose. I broke your nose.” Peter reaches up to grip his own hair in an instinctual move, but instead he grips the stupid foam helmet. He rips that off too, tossing it aside.

“Hey,” Tony says, watching its trajectory. “Throwing shit now—who said we were done?”

“ _I broke your nose._ ”

“I know you have super strength, I was prepared for this,” Tony says, walking over to the chair where he stowed his phone. He grabs it, holds it up in front of his face, narrowing his eyes at himself and the new wound. “Actually, I just wanted to claim elder abuse.”

“Stop,” Peter says. There’s a crack across the bridge of Tony’s nose, bright red blood streaming from his nostrils. “Oh shit, it looks bad.”

“Only I’m allowed to use the ‘s’ word—”

“I’m a teenager—”

“Precisely.” 

Peter sighs. 

“Come over here,” Tony says, motioning with his head. “We need a selfie.”

“A self— _a selfie?_ ”

“Yeah, put at least one glove on, I wanna send it to May.”

“Oh God. Really?”

“Yeah.”

Peter sighs. He shuffles over to where one of his abandoned gloves is, putting it back on. He goes over to stand beside Tony and pouts. 

“Just consider it payback for all the times I’ve annoyed the shit out of you,” Tony says. He throws an arm around Peter’s shoulder, and Peter holds one glove up like a reluctant winner. “Say ‘bloody nose!’”

“You’re the worst,” Peter says, as Tony snaps the photo. 

“I’m the best,” Tony says. “Alright, let’s—let’s get to the med bay and bother somebody about this.”

**3.**

Tony sits at the edge of Peter’s bed, and feels like any minute, the world might explode. 

His world, anyway. The tiny portion of the larger world that he’s carved out for himself. To keep himself sane, to keep his family safe, to keep the things he loves intact. Yeah, that world—it’s got cracks in it now, and they’re all surrounding Peter. 

The news is on mute, the TV above Peter’s bed blaring in its silence, the kid’s image plastered there alongside the headline _BREAKING—SPIDER-MAN REVEALED AS QUEENS RESIDENT PETER PARKER._ They have an old school photo, which makes Peter look younger than he is, which in turn makes Tony furious. Not even he can stop the coverage, and he’s sure as hell tried. Peter’s phone keeps buzzing in Tony’s pocket, but he doesn’t look at it. He feels half catatonic, has been stuck in that state since the photo was delivered earlier today. The photo he’s still clutching, face down, in his left hand. 

They received it at the first guard gate, in a plain Manila envelope. It made its way to Tony’s office, where May was already with him, because Peter had been gone for more than ten hours without checking in, which is never a good sign. The envelope was addressed plainly, only said _TONY STARK_ on the outside with nothing else, and he wondered how the fuck it got here. In his mind he had planned to order someone to check the cameras, talk to the gate guard, but he kept quiet, trembling hands peeling the thing open.

The photo was black and white. Peter, in his suit, without his mask, chained to a chair. Blood around his mouth. A black eye. A cut along his neck. And a message, in red sharpie, that said _WE HAVE YOUR SPIDER-MAN._ A note taped on the back demanding six million dollars or they’d release his identity.

Tony had started to get the money ready to go immediately, but then Peter himself showed up. Bloody, one chain still around his wrist. Promptly collapsing at their feet.

His identity went live about an hour later, with all the evidence the public could need, and Tony hasn’t moved from this spot since. He swallows hard, watching the kid sleep, and he tries to kickstart his brain, tries to get into gear, tries to figure this thing out. He considers denying it, but they already have photos of the two of them hanging out in public together, as they tend to do. There’s been speculation about Peter’s identity for months, and this is the final puzzle piece pulling it all together. Of course he’s Spider-Man. Of _course._

Tony turns the photo over, and his heart aches at the sight of it. The defiance in Peter’s eyes, among all that pain. All the bruises. Tony feels like Peter had to have known what would happen if he escaped, but he’s stubborn—he wasn’t gonna let Tony give up anything for him. 

Tony wishes the kid knew by now that he’d give up _anything_ to keep him safe.

Tony startles a little bit when the door opens, and he turns the photo back over, putting it on top of the small shelf beside him. May walks back in, clicks her tongue when she sees the news is still rattling on about their latest story. 

Tony gets up to meet her, taking one of the pillows out of her hands. She’s got a couple, since Peter likes to sleep with about ten of them if he can, and she’s got a bag of his clothes.

She meets Tony’s eyes. “So, uh—any more thoughts on what we should do about this?” she asks.

His mind is a jumbled mess. This is a problem he’d never exactly planned for, because he’d fought so hard to keep it from happening. He clears his throat. “I guess we’ll deal with it,” he says.

She nods at him, and her face changes. She looks resolute. “Yeah,” she says. “We will. He’s got us, right? We’ve got this?”

Tony nods, because that is something he can agree with. “Yeah,” he says. “He’s got us.”

“Alright,” May says, putting her things down. “Uh, help me arrange these without waking him up.”

Both he and May walk over on either side of Peter’s bed, ignoring the news and the horror of their new situation. Tony gently slips one hand around the back of Peter’s head, avoiding the bandage at his temple, and lifts him up a little bit. May helps put the pillow down, and then Tony rests Peter’s head back down on top of it. He swipes a stray hair out of the kid’s eyes, and May leans down, kissing Peter on the forehead.

“We’ll figure it out,” Tony says, his voice rough. “We will. I promise.”

“I know,” May says. “We have to.”

**4.**

Tony sits in the stands beside May and Happy and sinks a little lower into his seat. Flashes keep going off, but a lot of them are aimed in his direction, and that pisses him off something awful.

“I should have worn a disguise,” Tony says, looking at May. “A fake mustache. Some bad eyebrows. Something.”

“You’re fine,” May says, patting his knee. “They knew you’d be here anyway.”

“If you were wearing a disguise, I would have had to wear one too,” Happy says. “And I feel like it would have made us stick out more.”

Tony sighs. “Probably.” He watches the kids go across the stage in their black graduation robes, meeting their principal, shaking his hand, receiving their diplomas. “How many more?” he asks. “How many more til Pete? I’m suffering. I’m dying.”

“You’re dramatic,” May says, but she’s suppressing a smile.

“Context clues, Tony,” Happy says. “They just announced Amy Ourelis, so it’s gotta be soon.”

It was fine when the kid was down in the chairs on the ground level—the three of them were making faces at him, signing messages back and forth, but he got up to get in line what feels like hours ago. And it’s been torture ever since, save for the brief moment when Ned went across the stage.

“Too many kids go to this school,” Tony says. “Too many kids with last names starting with A-O.”

“Your patience is unparalleled,” May says.

“I know,” Tony says. “I’m very proud.”

“Look look, there he is,” Happy says, leaning over and pointing. Both May and Tony follow his finger and see Peter standing at the side of the stage, at the base of the steps, and he turns, eyes darting around to find them. Both May and Tony’s arms shoot up into the air, waving around kinda manically.

Peter waves back, grinning, and Tony smiles at him.

“He looks so goofy in that cap,” May says. 

“We actually had to use your barrette,” Tony says.

“Really?” May asks, raising her eyebrows at him.

“Yeah,” Tony says. “Damn thing kept falling off.”

“I told him.”

“Julian Pao,” the announcer says, into the microphone. 

“Oh, I think he’s next,” Happy says, as they watch Julian go across the stage. “Should be—”

“Peter Parker.”

Tony jumps to his feet and May quickly follows, and they clap and hoot and holler like insane people. Like they’re at a concert.

“Way to go, Pete!” Tony yells. “Hell yeah, Peter!”

And then he realizes that everyone—everyone—is on their feet, too. The place has _erupted_ in clapping and cheering, and it includes all the school board members across the stage. Tony hears some exclamations of “YAY SPIDER-MAN” and so, so many people are taking pictures. 

Peter gets his diploma, shakes his principal’s hand, and turns to wave in their direction. They wave back, probably too enthusiastically, and Tony’s heart swells with a kind of pride that he’s only ever felt for Peter Parker.

~

They created a special exit for Peter, considering there’s a shit ton of paparazzi waiting for him out front, and May, Tony and Happy meet him there. It’s a long hallway at the back of the stadium, and even though they’re alone, Tony can still hear the reverberations of all the other students and their proud families passing through.

Peter rushes up to them, beaming, and May catches him in a hug. His cap is crooked on his head now, and Tony straightens it out.

Jesus, he’s so close to crying. He steps back, wiping at his eyes, and tries to cover it with a smile.

“Did you hear that cheering?” Happy asks, smacking Peter on the shoulder once May pulls back. “They know they’ve got a damn hero in their midst.”

“I think all that was for Julian Pao,” Peter says, laughing.

“Honey, can I get a picture of you and Tony?” May asks. “Quick, before he breaks down.”

“Mrs. _Parker_ ,” Tony hisses, narrowing his eyes at her. She smiles a little wickedly.

“Yeah, yeah, I wanted one anyway,” Peter says. 

Tony clears his throat. “Alright, lemme just make sure the kid’s barrette isn’t visible,” he says, peering around the back of Peter’s head.

“I think it’s buried in my hair pretty good,” Peter says. 

Tony nods, and wraps his arm around Peter’s shoulders, looking down at him. He’s hit with that fondness, ever present when he thinks about Peter. But it’s particularly strong and gripping in this moment.

“You know, I’m really proud of you, Pete,” he says. He can hear May clicking away, taking photo after photo. He feels the tears coming on again, and he’s gotta stop ‘em. “I mean, I absolutely expected you to faceplant walking across that stage, but you—you made it. You made it all the way.”

Peter snorts, the tassel on his cap swinging back and forth. “Well, I’ve gotta make my old man proud, right?”

Tony is struck in the face of that statement. Frozen. He doesn’t know what to say, and he hears Happy snickering in the background.

“Right, kid,” Tony croaks. “Right.”

“Alright,” May says. “Look at me. Say ‘MIT!’”

They both face her, and Tony tugs Peter close.

“MIT!”

~

Tony shreds the ransom photo. The ice pop photo becomes Peter’s contact picture in Tony’s phone. The boxing one becomes something Ned sends to Peter every time he doubts himself, which Tony totally condones. _You broke Iron Man’s nose! You’re capable of anything!_

And the graduation photo is blown up, framed, and has a spot of honor in the living room. 

Peter’s made Tony into a damn sap. But when he looks at that picture, he feels like he’s been one all along. The kid just brought it out in him.


End file.
